


Count Yourself Lucky

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Fat Shaming, Humiliation, M/M, Misogyny, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay finds a use for Theon after a boring hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count Yourself Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thrumugnyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thrumugnyr/gifts).



The two Freys came for Theon when Lord Ramsay returned. The large one eyed his brother as if some joke was shared between them, but Big Walder kept a stern face and worried eyes. A vague form hung behind them, silently (not Ramsay though, he would have _known_ if it was Ramsay).

“We've got Grunt here, if you act up,” teased Little Walder, a smile hinting at the corners of his young mouth.

Theon struggled as Grunt loosened the bonds. Every part of him wanted to fight it, to _fight this_ , but his instincts told him now was not the time. He would escape eventually, flying from the Boltons and their dungeons ( _this house built on torture_ ), but not now. Theon gave the man a scowl, but no further disobedience. His wrists and ankles ached, and standing made his whole legs tremble as he walked.

Ramsay and his boys sat waiting in the great hall when they entered, the young Lord sprawled idly across his father's seat. His eerie eyes drifted to Theon immediately, even as he laughed begrudgingly at some jape, most likely one of his boys'. Spare flecks of blood still mottled his already ruddy face, and the usual pink of his sleeves had been stained deep red, the wet fabric clinging to his thick arms. His dark hair had been mussed. The food before him in his men had been carved, but not served and a still corked bottle of wine sat by Ramsay's right arm.

“There you are, Reek,” he mused. “I thought I smelt something.”

Theon frowned and thrashed against Grunt's grip, only to be shoved forward falling to his hands and knees. Ramsay laughed, a genuine one now, and his boys followed suit. The noise was thick and cruel in Theon's ear, his palms and face both burning from the embarrassment and sudden shock of hitting the ground. He remembered a snowball fight in Winterfell, Jon laughing as Robb shoved him into the snow.

He tried to rise with as much dignity as he can muster, but today the bastard had an edge around him Theon did not trust . He glanced slowly back at the man's twisted thick lip and broad shoulders and swallowed his anger.

“Come here,” he ordered, beckoning him with an idle gesture. Something deeper entered the bastard's voice and his eyes trailed over Theon's shaking body. “I'd like you to be my serving wench today. Can you be a good pet and do that for me?”

Theon pushed the shame of it from his mind. It was just a single meal, and the bastard wasn't beating or flaying him. He could make it through this, he could endure it. He shuffled slowly to Ramsay's side, careful not to meet his eyes. He hated his eyes the most, the way they poured over him as he bled and screamed.

“What would you like first, my lord?” asked Theon, almost spitting the words.

Ramsay gave him a sidelong glance and a few of his boys sniggered again. His hunt had been so _boring_ today. She had been some slut his father had found out was stealing from the kitchens. His father would have just hung her or something equally dull, but that was his father, all efficiency and duty, going on about bad blood and keeping up appearances as if half the castle didn't hear him rutting away inside his pig wife. She had only taken a few hours to find, and when he peeled the first strips of skin from her stomach it was as if something inside her vanished. Her eyes went wide and glassy, and all he had heard from her was an occasional low whimper.

Reek, _he didn't know that was his name yet, poor thing_ , was always entertaining though. Ramsay had come to look forward to his time with him. He knew it was better to wait, let the long hours melt together in the darkness of the hood he wore, but he thought about his new servant all the time. In time he'd be better trained and Ramsay would be able to let him out of the dungeon. They'd be inseparable. He'd have his Reek beside him wherever he went, and he could bed him and punish him however and whenever he saw fit. He'd be Lord of Winterfell and no one, not even his father, could take his Reek from him.

“Wine.”

Theon swallowed hard, looking at the bottle. It would be heavy with the liquid and his fingers were still clumsy and sore. He reached for the bottle, cutely aware of the way Ramsay looked at him as he strained for it. It made him feel sick. When the bastard licked his lips he knew the kind of things Ramsay was thinking of. There had certainly been threats and promises of the kinds of things Ramsay would inflict on him ( _lips and short breath tickling against his ear in the dark_ ), but Theon had yet seen any. Perhaps if he got the bastard drunk enough he still would not.

Even as he initially lifted it, he could feel his fingers slipping and trembling. The cork fell between his digits when he pulled it out, and lifting the bottle felt like agony. His muscles screamed and rebelled as he began to pour Ramsay a glass.

As the wine began to splatter, Ramsay sneered. The lord's hand was suddenly tight around his wrist.

“You can't even manage this can you?” Ramsay's other hand reached for his waist, and Theon squirmed against it unthinking. He didn't want the knife today, he was tired of hurting, tired of Ramsay's cruelty.

Ramsay bit his lip and began to tug Theon back into his lap. His voice was hushed and lustful. He shouldn't have expected so much from him. He was a simple thing, and learned slowly. He was plenty loud though, and perhaps he could make up for what his day had lacked.

“Even a child could pour me a glass. I've got another way you can serve me though,” Ramsay whispered.

 _No._ Theon was a Prince, _a prince_. He was supposed to be on the sea taking land and women with his sister at his side. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

“Get off me, you low born...,” growled Theon. The other men went quiet. Still even. A slow anger crept over Theon and his mind felt blinded ( _it made him a man to take the pain, to live with it_ , _not this though, not this_ ).

Ramsay's arms locked around him, pulling Theon snugly into his lap. Theon shifted against him as best as he could, trying to free himself. His blood ran cold as he felt Ramsay underneath him beginning to stiffen.

“I have had a _very_ disappointing hunt, Reek.” Ramsay let out a long sigh, as Theon snarled and cursed.

“Perhaps, you'd serve me better as my game,” he suggested, with a seriousness that made Theon squirm. His lips were teasingly buried into Theon's neck.

Reek still had some strength to him, and perhaps with a meal and a few hours start there'd be a real chase to it. He'd come across him hiding along the banks of the weeping water, trying to follow it back west towards the Iron Isles, only for Ramsay to knock him down into the mud. He'd drag him to the tree his father had raped his mother under.

“I'd escape,” whimpered Theon. He wasn't sure if he believed it, but he needed to say it. He needed to maintain his dignity.

Ramsay only chuckled at this. Theon's body continued to strain and wriggle against him, the friction pleasant and inviting against his cock. He had thought to have this moment in private before, but it was better like this. His boys needed to know that Reek was his and his alone.

“Someone hold him down, would you,” he ordered. Damon and Grunt came to his side. Theon felt limp as they bent him over the table (helpless, he's about to take you like a woman, and they're--).

He could hear Ramsay standing, and soon he felt a hand on him, tugging his britches down to his ankles.

“The girl I fucked today,” Ramsay started, his fingers playing with the sensitive skin of Theon's thigh. “She barely even cried....”

Theon tried to break free again, but his arms just felt numb and his stomach empty.

“The bitch went dumb. Like she didn't even notice I was fucking her.”

He squeezed a handful of flesh just below Theon's bare ass, causing a low whine to pour from Theon's mouth.

“I bet you'll cry better than she did.”

Theon tried to press where he was from his mind, maybe he could escape it that way, like she had. Simply turn off, not be Theon, not be a prince, not be anything. He forced his eyes shut, as the tears came. He didn't want to see it, he couldn't bear to look back.

There was a soft noise, skin brushing against skin with disgusting slick undertones, and Ramsay let out a grunt. Unless the Stark's had taken to buggering their ward, he expected him to be plenty tight. If Reek had been reared at the Dreadfort, Ramsay knew what sort of things his father got up to.

“Oh come now Reek, you should count yourself lucky. It's not like anyone else would want to fuck a filthy creature like you,” Ramsay cooed, pushing the thought of his father from his mind. “I just need to make sure you know your place first. I've been very generous with you, and you need to know there are consequences.”

Theon remained silent, unsure of what to say. Refusing him would anger him, but it wasn't as if he wanted this. He choked out a sob as he felt a twinge, clenching at the contact of Ramsay's tip against his entrance.

“There it is,” Ramsay continued, pleased. He wrapped a hand around each of Theon's bony hips. “Don't think I'll be soft you just because you cry as well a girl does.”

A few of his boys sniggered, but they had learned not to interrupt him. The clefts of Reek's ass fit snugly around him, but when he pushed inside him that was something else entirely. Reek was clenched taught around him and it felt better than he had imagined it. _He's meant to be yours_.

Theon lurched forwards as Ramsay penetrated him, the stretching pain of it feeling as if he was burning. His voice cracked as a gasp left his throat and the tears pooled underneath his face. He imagined this would be harder if Ramsay hadn't somehow wet himself, but the pain of it was still awful and overwhelming. Maybe if he focused on the hurt of it enough he would pass out, maybe if he focused hard enough it could be another time. There were moments when he had felt scared that he thought that maybe, if he just thought about it hard enough he could change time. He had felt like that as Winterfell burned. Perhaps if he stared into the flames long enough he would be back with Robb; they would be young laughing again, and maybe, if he was lucky,  _Robb would be alive_. It hadn't worked.

Ramsay bucked his hips forward. It was a bit difficult at first, but with a bit of force he was able to rock himself back and forth within Reek. He felt snug and warm, and the heat of the pleasure made him dig his nails into Reek's hips. Theon whimpered again as he took him deeper.

"I want you to thank me when I'm done. If it weren't for me, you'd be under my father's care. My father can't abide crying," Ramsay explained, punctuating the thought with a groan. Damon made an entertained noise at this, tilting his head towards Grunt, and squeezed Theon's wrist slightly tighter. Grunt shot him an angry stare back from over Reek's other arm.

A flushed pleasant sensation spread from Ramsay's neck through the pit of his stomach as he began to work himself harder against Theon. This was much better than the girl had been. Reek squirmed and panted for him, his head wrenching as they rutted. Ramsay shifted one hand to grip Reek by the hair, yanking him so that his back strained as Damon and Grunt still held him down. 

Ramsay tugged him back tighter as he came, biting his own lip reflexively. Theon let out another gutteral garbled sound as Ramsay pulled out of him. It still hurt now and he felt sticky between his legs. Well, Theon did. Theon felt sticky and hurt and anger, but he wasn't entirely sure if he was in fact Theon. He could sense and feel the things that happened to Theon, but they felt far away and lagged, as if they were constantly a few steps behind.

"I don't think he'll put up much of a fight now," Ramsay surveyed, readjusting his clothes. "I'll take him back myself."

Theon thought it would have been a time to try and overpower him, but the odd other part of himself thought better than it. He felt weak now, his thighs and arse still burning with pain. He wouldn't be able to run, and Ramsay would only enjoy the chase. 

Theon stood limpy as Ramsay's arms circled around him, leading him back to the dungeons.

"You'll be a proper bedwarmer for me in time, Reek," he said softly, squeezing his ribs. Theon preferred not to think of it. He couldn't picture doing this again. The thought of Ramsay using him like this night after night was unfathomable. He wasn't really sure it had even happened now.

"Thank you," Theon croaked. It was safer to lie. 

Ramsay placed him back in the cell, and simply stared for a moment. His icy eyes stilled and there was a pleased sigh from Ramsay's lips as he left Theon alone again.


End file.
